


Your Whole World

by thebearking



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Black!Reader - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Female Reader, Gunshot Wounds, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, Major Character Injury, Mixed Race!Reader, Mutant Reader, No Smut, POV Frank Castle, Pyrokinetic Reader, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Self-Insert, Serious Injuries, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 03:46:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11477952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebearking/pseuds/thebearking
Summary: Frank gets shot and learns more about you.





	Your Whole World

**Author's Note:**

> ok, yes, i did another self-insert. it's got the same characters, ash (the inferno) and kai (the spectre), plus a new character i just made up for this instance: sofia, nicknamed fia, who is ash's four-year-old daughter. her father, daniel, has passed and since then ash has been living in hell's kitchen in the apartment across the hall from kai. ash and frank have been teaming up for the last four months or so. i imagine them to have known each other for a fairly long time at this point.
> 
> black female reader, here. enjoy!

Three bullets, all still lodged inside of him.

He could hear you cursing over and over when the ringing in his ears finally stopped. He would’ve laughed if he weren’t in so much pain; he’d never heard you swear like that before. He tried sitting up and cried out, a burning ache spreading through his abdomen.

You were kneeling over him, eyes wide with horror. He knew what was going through your head: you were his shield, you were supposed to protect him, you were supposed to absorb the bullets that came his way because you were bulletproof and he was not. But he wasn’t mad at you. He just wanted to bash in the heads of whoever had managed to land not one, not two, but three shots on him. “Eyes open, Frank, stay with me,” you told him, your voice trembling.

Frank smirked. He reached with his good arm, the one that didn’t have a bullet in the shoulder, and touched his ribs. His fingers came away bloody. He tipped his head back, still smirking. “You gotta get us outta here, hothead. I’m no help.”

“Shit. _Shit._ Okay, just—give me a second, _fuck_.”

He closed his eyes—he couldn’t help it, he was just so goddamned tired—and listened to you rummage around in your pockets. It was so quiet without the gunfire, but the agony from his injuries was almost deafening. Then you were talking again, but not to him. You were on the phone.

“I need your help,” he heard you say. “Frank got shot…Three. I need you to help me patch him up…Because this is more severe than anything I’ve ever handled and you’re better at stitches and he could _die_ , for God’s sake…Is she awake? Make sure she’s asleep when I get there…Okay. Thanks. See you soon.”

For the next several minutes he didn’t register much aside from you lugging him through the streets. He groaned when you accidentally dropped him; he could feel your hands shaking. He had never seen you so scared before. Your place was the closest and so that was where you took him, waiting outside the apartment building, setting him carefully on the ground.

“What’re you waitin’ for?” Frank slurred.

“Like hell if you think I can carry you up the stairs by myself,” you replied. He kept his eyes closed but felt your fingers on his face, sweeping the hair away from his sweaty forehead. “You gotta stay awake for me, okay?”

“Sure. Sure…”

Someone opened the door. “I’ll get the legs. You get his arms,” that same someone said, and Frank found himself being lifted into the air by his ankles and underarms. He screamed, fire radiating outward from the bullet in his shoulder, as you and the stranger carried him inside, up two flights of stairs, and down the hall. He would have opened his eyes but it was too much. There was the click of a door opening and suddenly he was being brought into your apartment and being laid out on some cushiony surface. Your couch, he assumed.

“Frank.” You nudged his cheek. “ _Frank_.”

He groaned and opened his eyes to see you frowning at him. Just behind you was a person he’d never seen before, taller and more muscular than you. The lights were dim but he could make out sharp eyes and a thatch of white hair. “Who’s your friend?” he grumbled, allowing himself to be lifted while you took off his jacket.

“Why the fuck weren’t you wearing a bulletproof vest?” the stranger muttered. They were digging through a med kit, procuring scissors and bandages and thread.

“He likes the thrill of being unprotected,” you answered for him. Your friend handed you the scissors and then you were cutting Frank out of his shirt. “And I’m usually all the protection he needs.”

“Not to burst your bubble, babu, but he looks like he needs a bulletproof vest.”

_Who the fuck is this guy?_

“Kai,” the person said finally, eyes searing into Frank’s as they knelt down next to you. “Kai” started wiping his chest with what smelled like peroxide. “And I’m not a guy, so don’t refer to me as such. Here.” They handed you a pair of tweezers that you never asked for, and he watched your hand glow golden-red as you heated up the metal.

Frank blinked. “I never…” Well, he never said it out loud, but the way this stranger looked at him like they already know what he was thinking told him that they really did hear him. Another enhanced? Jesus. “Where are they?”

You opened your mouth to ask him what he meant but Kai interrupted you with, “Ribs, shoulder, left hip. Try not to move.”

The bullets hurt as much coming out as they did going in, all three of them stinging like tiny bolts of fire. He closed his eyes once they were out, and as you and Kai stitched him up, he gave in to exhaustion and let himself sleep.

* * *

He ached all over when he woke up, but he forced himself into consciousness. No point in delaying the inevitable.

He opened his eyes and found a child staring back at him, one with curly red hair and chubby cheeks. She couldn’t be any older than three or four, dressed in a blue and green nightgown. She looked a lot like you, down to the tight curls and round face, but Frank didn’t quite know how to comprehend the obvious.

“Um” was all he managed to say.

“Are you Mommy’s friend?” the little girl squeaked.

Frank gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “That depends,” he said, pushing himself to sit up a little bit against his pillow. “Who’s your mommy?”

The girl’s big hazel eyes lit up. “She’s the most beautifullest mommy in the world! And she’s really nice and strong an-and her hair is big and curly like mine!” She pointed at the two afro puffs on her head. The right one was flattened, probably from sleeping on that side.

The side of Frank’s mouth quirked up into a grin. “Sounds like a friend of mine,” he said. “Where’s your mommy? Still asleep?”

“Yeah. She’s supposed to wake up _before_ me, but I guess it’s okay if she sleeps more.” She sat down on the cushion next to Frank’s leg. He did his best to wiggle away from her, gritting his teeth against the sting. “What’s your name?”

“Frank. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

She smiled bashfully at the epithet. She even had your long lashes. It was the green in her eyes and the red in her hair that threw him off. “Fia Renee.”

“That’s a pretty name. Do you think—”

“Do you have a puppy? Mommy says you have a puppy.”

Frank paused, raising his eyebrows. “She talks about me?”

Fia nodded. “She says you’re really strong, almost as strong as her. And brave. And mean. But still nice.”

Frank grinned again, but a pang shot through his abdomen and he stopped himself from chuckling. “‘Still nice,’ huh? Sounds about right. And yeah, I do have a puppy. His name’s Max.”

Fia eyed him excitedly and knelt on the cushion, placing a hand on Frank's hip for support. He grunted, a spasm rippling through him like lightning. “I wanna meet him!” said Fia. “I love puppies.”

“Maybe I’ll bring him over one day,” Frank croaked, subtly moving closer to the back of the couch. He thought he was taking this well, but this was a lot for him to process. You, a mother. You, pregnant once with a child. He couldn’t help but imagine how you would have looked back then, your belly a distended oval, your cheeks fuller and your feet swollen, your face glowing, hair thick and lustrous. Sweet as a peach and pretty, too. Still, it was hard to imagine you any prettier than you were now.

“Fia! Please don’t bother him. He’s got a lot of ouwies. He needs rest.”

There you were. Frank couldn’t see you—you were wise and had laid him out so he was facing the door and not the hallway leading to your room—but he knew your voice anyway, even when it was soft and scratchy with sleep. “Morning, sleeping beauty. I was just getting to know Little Miss Red over here. She’s a cutie.”

Fia smiled again and hopped off the couch. “Mommy!” As you came into view, she ran right into you, and you crouched down to embrace her, kissing her cheek loudly. “Why did you sleep so long, Mommy?” she asked you.

Your eyes flitted to Frank before returning to Fia. His eyes pinpointed the bottle of pills in your hand. “Mommy was up really late last night working,” you said, fluffing Fia’s right afro puff back to its proper shape. Frank liked how tender your gaze became when you looked at the girl, how your entire focus shifted to her and her alone. “I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodnight, sweetie. Was Kai nice? Did they make you dinner?”

Fia nodded. “Kai made me mac and cheese! And we watched animals on TV. We saw baby cheetahs!”

“What! No way. That’s _amazing_!” You rose to your feet. “Honey, can you get a cup of water? I think Frank is thirsty.”

“Okay!” And Fia was off, her bare feet slapping against the kitchen tile.

You walked over to Frank, your eyes suddenly morose. “How’re you feeling?” you asked, kneeling on the floor beside the couch.

“I’ve been better, but I’m okay, thanks to you. Gonna need some of those painkillers, hothead.”

You handed the bottle to him. “Here. Should be good for a few hours.”

Frank took it, looking at it instead of you. He _wanted_ to look at you, but not when you were looking back; he wanted to see you when you were unaware, eyes unfocused, lips slightly parted, just thinking, _being_. “So who’s Kai?”

“A friend of mine, since high school actually.” You pulled back the blanket to appraise his injuries. “They’re a mind-reader. I can control fire, they can control thoughts. Ever heard of the Spectre?”

Frank loosed an impressed whistle. “That’s them?”

“Yep,” you said. “They live across the hall. I imagine they’re still asleep.”

“And they know who I am?”

“Yes.”

He bit at his lower lip pensively. He’d read about the Spectre’s supposed mind control, how people had admitted to slashing tires or cheating on their spouses, how criminals had turned themselves in to the police because some shadowy stranger had told them to. Though his one interaction with Kai hadn’t been all that pleasant, they must have been worthy of his trust if they were worthy of yours. He could see that the two of you were close, given how long you’d known each other. “Fia’s a keeper,” he remarked. “Looks just like you.”

You snorted. “She gets the hair from her dad.” You stood up again, arms akimbo.

“She have your fire?” Frank asked, momentarily amused by the thought of you chasing a fiery little girl around the apartment.

You shrugged. “Not yet. Right now she just has the heat, which is how I was when I was her age.”

He let himself look at you again. Your thick hair was gathered into a high puff at the top of your head, and you were wearing a gray camisole and sweatpants. He’d seen you tired, but he’d never seen you looking so…domestic. He liked it. “You never told me about her,” he said, his voice unassuming.

“Never came up. It’s not something I like to talk about on the job.” You looked guilty. “She’s my everything and I can’t have anyone knowing about her. Not anyone who would want to hurt me, or hurt her to get to me.” You swallowed, and your eyes seemed to glow as your tone hardened. “If anything happened to her…I’d just stop. I’d stop trying. The world could burn for all I care. Maybe I’d burn it myself.”

Frank nodded. He believed you.

Feet stomped across the floor again. “Here, Mommy!” Fia ran back to the front room with a glass of water in her tiny hands.

“Thank you, baby! Why don’t you give it to Frank, he’d love that.” You flashed him a smirk.

Fia walked over and gave it to him, spilling a little on the blanket he’d pulled back up over his chest. “Thanks, sweetheart,” Frank said, and Fia scurried back to the kitchen with a giggle. He swallowed two tablets, downing the whole glass of water as he went. He knew he’d be treading a sensitive topic for you, but he figured with him in such a bedraggled state, you wouldn’t lay a hand on him. “What about her dad?” he asked.

There were those sad eyes again. You turned away from him, walking toward the mantle where the TV sat, and took one of the photos sitting there. You held it out to him. It was you and a man Frank had never seen before. The guy was handsome, his skin half a shade lighter than yours; his hair was just as curly as yours, but it was as auburn as yours was brown. “He died in the Incident,” you deadpanned. Your voice was firm, but not cold. Just solid. “Out to lunch with a friend. Crushed under a building. It’s a miracle they even found his body in the rubble.”

Frank nodded, keeping his eyes on the happier version of you in the photo. “Was Fia around at the time?”

“Nope. I found out I was pregnant a month and a half later.” You returned the picture to its rightful place. You didn’t move, just stood there facing the TV with your hands flexing and unflexing. Frank considered trying to stand up and console you, and he would have, had he not been wounded. “Frank, you need to be more careful.”

“I am careful.”

“Not enough!” He wondered why you wouldn’t turn around as you spoke, but judging by the tremor in your voice, he figured you were close to tears and didn’t want him to see you cry. “I don’t care how ‘thrilling’ it is to go out there unprotected but if you don’t start protecting yourself…I can’t see you hurt like that again. I can’t do this if it means you getting hurt all the time.”

Frank tipped his head back, staring up at the gray ceiling with half-lidded eyes and thinking of all the excuses he could toss your way: that the armor weighed him down, or that he could protect his torso but not his face, or that he wasn’t interested in staying alive, just putting other guys down. He sighed, shutting his eyes and shutting down those thoughts in the process. “I’ll do my best,” he rasped, “but I still need you, hothead. You still gonna be out there to shield me?” He glanced over at you; you weren’t facing him but you had pivoted a bit, so he could see bits of your profile: your ear, your cheek, your nose.

He heard you sniff. “Like I’d be anywhere else,” you said, and he could hear the smile in your voice. It soothed him; he let himself smile, too.

“Mommy, can you make waffles?” called Fia from the kitchen.

“Of course, sweetie! Do you wanna keep Frank company while I cook?” You sent him a hopeful glance.

“Yeah! He says one day he’ll bring his puppy and I can meet him!”

“What! That’s so nice of him. Maybe we can meet Max tomorrow.”

Frank watched you leave the room and smiled at Fia when she appeared. It had been less than ten minutes and yet this little girl had won him over. He figured it was due to the fact that she was yours. Already he felt that same innate need to protect, to cherish and care for, as he did for you. If protecting you meant protecting Fia, he was going to work even harder. If keeping you at his side meant he had to do better to protect himself, he was going to try even harder to emerge the victor in every fight. He didn’t want you going through the hurt again, and as difficult as it was for him to believe, you cared for him, enough that his death would devastate you. He could see it in your eyes that you wouldn’t survive another loss. Four years and he could see the wounds were still fresh. You’d never healed.

Neither had he.


End file.
